


Turning Tables - A Lesson In Propinquity

by Trickster88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:32:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster88/pseuds/Trickster88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Close enough to start a war,</i><br/>All that I have,<br/>Is on the floor.<br/>God only knows what we're fighting for.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>So I won't,</i><br/>Let you,<br/>Close enough to hurt me.<br/>No I won't,<br/>Ask you,<br/>You to just desert me."</p><p> </p><p>-Turning Tables</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Tables - A Lesson In Propinquity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tumblr's [Destiel Week](http://destielweek.tumblr.com) prompt "Propinquity". 
> 
>  
> 
> **Propinquity - Nearness in place, proximity**
> 
>  
> 
> There's a song to go along with this [over at my original Tumblr post](http://dickwithfangs.tumblr.com/post/19329752877/destiel-week-12-propinquity-dean-lifts-a-beer-to#notes).
> 
> Enjoy, and happy Destiel Week!

**Destiel Week 12 - Propinquity**

 

Dean lifts a beer to his lips. He’s lost count of how many he’s had. By this point he’s half convinced he could bleed alcohol.

 

A wave of dizziness overwhelms him. Dean’s already sitting on the couch,  _Bobby’s_ smelly-ass couch. It reeks from years of abuse - spilt beer and bloodstains saturate it, the ever-present whiff of sulfur faintly detectable.

 

Dean knows if he sticks his hand between the cushions, he’ll be granted a handful of wayward salt. He doesn’t know if it is this fact that gets him to tear up, or if it’s just because he’s totally and completely pissed, but he can feel the water building up in his eyes.

 

Everybody leaves him. They always leave. First his mom, then Sam, Cassie, his father, Ash, Jo, Ellen…

 

 _Cas_.

 

Dean closes his eyes. Whether they want to leave him or not, they inevitably do, and Sam is the only one that ever comes back.

 

Dean doesn’t know if that is supposed to make him feel better or worse.

 

He decides it’s not something he’s willing to dwell on, and throws back another mouthful of alcohol. He’s got one hell of a buzz going, and he knows he’s going to regret it in the morning.

 

But Dean can’t bring himself to care, because he’s sitting on  _Bobby’s_ couch in  _Bobby’s_ house drinking  _Bobby’s beer_ , and Bobby isn’t there. This is so inherently wrong that Dean feels slightly ashamed.

 

 _Cas_.

 

Dean jerks up, refusing to follow the train of thought. Too painful, too much. All Dean can think to ask is  _why_ , but he knows God doesn’t give two shits.

 

_Why did you take him from me?_

 

Dean tells himself he’s talking about Bobby, about his father, but he knows that’s not true.

 

_Why would he turn like that?_

 

Dean wonders if he did something, wonders if he set him off. He knows it can’t be entirely his fault, but he still feels guilty. He always feels guilty.

 

_“Where were you when I needed to hear it?”_

 

_“I was there. Where were you?”_

 

Dean isn’t sure he knows anymore.

 

It was true that Cas had never asked for help, not with a personal struggle, but Dean didn’t think he’d ever offered.

 

 _Close,_ Dean thought, slumping to his side on the couch.  _Too close_.

 

He’d always told Sam not to get close to people. You couldn’t help your family, but he could’ve stopped Cassie.

 

He could’ve stopped  _Cas_.

 

Dean buries his face in a grimy pillow, dropping his empty beer bottle to the floor. It clinks, rolling a few inches away from his hand. Sam will find his brother in this exact position in two hours. He will pick up the bottle and toss a blanket on top of Dean, but he won’t mention it in the morning. There are a lot of things he won’t mention.

 

Dean allows his hot tears to soak into the pillow – because he’s absolutely pissed, he’d never let it happen sober – and lets his body grow numb.

 

 _If you let them get close, they’ll hurt you._ In Dean’s experience, this was too true – no, this was  _fact_.

 

He couldn’t go through this again. Not when he knew what could have been, when he realized that he’d missed it, and that he was never going to have another chance. When he didn’t  _want_ another chance.

 

He wanted Cas.

 

Dean’s eyes slip shut, cutting off the flow of tears. A few minutes later, his breathing slows, evening out in the bliss of sleep.

 

There was only so much a person could take. 


End file.
